Trapped

August 7th, 2010

Dear Diary,
You aren't real. You aren't a person I can physically speak to, only physically write on. I will now apologize for the mess that with be further on in your pages, trees were sacrificed so I could feel less lonely. I saw you set down on my bed neatly placed on my pillow with a note attached to your cover saying, "Write your feelings down, progress through the pages. -Nurse Ann". I appreciated her efforts, even though I am not exactly the easiest nut to crack out of the bunch. This does give me sort of a sense of liberation I suppose, writing down everything I feel and taking into account how I actually can't function properly. Something that I don't need doctors to tell me anymore. Nurse Ann was the first one to talk to me calmly when I had arrived here at this hospital, and I say calmly only because it wasn't the most pleasant situation when I was forced to be here. I was constantly broken down and beaten by others, in any way one could imagine. Cliche things go to one thing to another and I ended up trying to take my own life, lovely razors, tasteful pills, strong Daniels and my tear-stained note. My mother had come up to my room right after I had blacked out, saying she, "Found my precious body limp and cold, crying her eyes out while dialing for the police". Acting was not her thing. Upon waking up, I was strapped to a carrier and like any surprised teenager, I started to thrash around almost tilting myself over. There were many men rushing towards me , yelling at me and acting very vulgar, until I locked eyes with Anne and it felt as if she knew everything and walked towards me. "Let's get you off this thing, yeah?" she had said. I, frightened, nodded my head in agreement where she had taken me to a room where I would be evaluated and experiencing my mother's first break down, and my fathers first appearance after a few years. Hours of course went by, staring at blank, yellow-stained walls, talking to people who wanted to test me. I was taken down the hallway where the rooms were. Each sectioned off area has four rooms in total, two on each side. The wallpaper of the outside was blue with speckled beige spots and it was textured. The rooms themselves had high ceilings that were dusty and looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in years, windows that had curtains on them allowing no sun to pass and flood through the room, two beds that's were heavily made ( and creaky as shit ), and finally the cupboard that was long enough and separated for a partner in the room. After observing my room, the nurse left me to soak in this depressing, dimly lit aura that made me regret my decision even more now. I wanted to leave immediately, but by now I know that won't happen for a while. I wanted to just sink into the spongey bed and fall into a deep sleep until morning, but I just couldn't. The hospital was always on their toes, always having something for patients to do or to go to. Groups were very common on a daily basis, about every 20 minutes a new group would have to be gone to after 30/45 minutes of already being in one. Whether it being art, music, or even fucking pet therapy, nothing made me in the slightest bit joyed, or want to continue on with such a program.

I may be living inside this hospital, but I've never felt so dead.

-Daniel Howell